Sir. Sir? Excuse me, sir!

Mmmmuh?

I think it’s time you went home, sir.

Ah shed wun mawwwww.

I believe you’ve had enough, sir, don’t you?

Vvv’not! Only ‘ad two-ur-free. Beshides, it’sh Marja— *urp* —risha Day.

Seventeen, sir, you’ve had seventeen margaritas.

…Naahhhhhhhhhh. You musht be finkin bout somewun elsh.

Come along, now, shall I call you a taxi home?

Dawww. OK then, shore.

Thank you, sir. What’s your address?

Vvv’no idea.

But surely you must remember your own address?

Is it near here?

Wherezh’ere?

The Hilton.

Ehhhh? We ant gorran’ilton in’ull.

You’re not in Hull, sir, you’re in London.

Huh. Well in that caysh arm nowhere near’ome.

Right…

Ow didda gerr’ere anyways?

I honestly do not know, sir. You turned up around noon and haven’t moved from that bar stool once, not even to go to the toilet.

Ah did too go to the toylut!

…Oh dear God.

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